Scary School Bus to NowhereSo, you think "7" is a lucky number?
And you think "777" is three times luckier?
Hah, hah, hah!
Have I got news for you. I'm Eugene Gill, and me and my friend, Alonso Monroe Stephens can tell you that "777" was not lucky for us. Why? Because "777" was the number of our school bus.
The scariest school bus in history!
Our terrifying tale began one morning when we ran down the stairs on our way to school. We were late, as usual, but Alonso was later than me. We could see our school bus heading towards us, but this fat lady was blocking our path to the bus stop. If we missed our bus, my mum wouldn't let me watch TV for a week.
If only I'd known then what I know now. If only we had missed the bus. We could have saved ourselves to much fear, so much terror, so much — danger!
I jumped off the path and ran across the grass. It had rained overnight. With every step, my new sneakers sank further and further into the mud. Squelch, squelch, squelch. Soon, they were a hideous yukky brown!
Alonso was smarter. He squeezed past the fat lady and ran along the path.
We just made it to the bus stop in time. The door swished open. We clambered inside, trying to catch our breath.
And that was when I noticed the first funny thing! The bus was empty. There was just the driver, Alonso, and me. No one else was aboard. Where were all our friends? Lacy Campos? Morris Rose? Adalberto Roy? Where were they...?
"Alonso," I asked, "is today a holiday?"
"No," he shook his head, looking amazed at all the empty seats. "It's a school day."
As the bus moved off, we made our way to our usual place at the back. I looked over my shoulder. And that was when I noticed the second funny thing!
The driver was different. He wasn't the usual driver we had every day. This driver had curly, curly hair. It was colored hair, too, like an orange. And his face was covered with little holes where he used to have pimples. And his nose looked sharp. Like an axe!
"The driver," I whispered to Alonso, "I know him. It's the killer."
Alonso turned white. "The k-k-killer?"
"Not a people-killer," I chided him, sitting down. "A chicken-killer. I've seen him. At the market. He chops the heads off the chickens!"
And just then, as the bus was driving along, that's when I noticed the third funny thing.
Only it wasn't funny.
It was scary.
WE WERE SOMEWHERE ELSE!
Alonso noticed it, too. He was shaking like a leaf, clutching his schoolbag to his chest like a shield.
"Hey, where are we? Something's wrong!" he called. "Look... where is everything!"
I was looking out the window already. We should have seen what we saw every day. All the flats and houses, the shopping centre, the bank on the corner, the post office, the market, the car park. Instead, NOTHING!
It was like we were driving through a mist.
Alonso was wide-eyed with fear. "I'm getting off!"
"You can't!" I grabbed his arm. "We'll be late for school!"
He looked at me scornfully. "What makes you think this bus is even going to our school?"
"Well, it must be going somewhere!" I snapped, trying to cover my nerves.
I rubbed the window with my hand. I thought maybe the aircon was fogging up the glass. But nothing happened! All I could see outside was this grey, swirling cloud.
"Are we still on the ground or flying?" I joked, not feeling at all funny.
Alonso was on his feet. "I want to get off! You can stay if you want to!"
"I don't want to," I mumbled, and started pressing the bell.
DING DONG... DING DONG... DING DONG...
But the red STOP sign didn't light up. Chicken-killer kept driving. There was just the back of his orange head and the grey mist at the front of the bus. Nothing else!
I could feel the cold tingles on my neck and arms.
"W-w-where is he taking us?" Alonso wanted to know.
"How would I know?" I gulped. Actually, it was more like a hulp, half-way between a "Help" and a gulp.
"He's not going to stop!" Alonso wailed.
I rang the bell again. "He has to!" I said angrily.
DING DONG... DING DONG... DING DONG...
Nothing! The bus kept going. I choked back my terror.
"Maybe the bell isn't loud enough," I offered. "Maybe — maybe he's deaf. Maybe a chicken cut off his ear!" I joked again.
"Funn-nee," Alonso glared at me. "What are we going to do?"
I knew! "Jump off at the first red light," I suggested. "He has to stop at a red light, right?"
"WHAT lights???" Alonso screamed.
He was right! In all that grey mist, where were the traffic lights?
For that matter, where were the roads and streets and traffic?
It was like we had stepped out of our own world into another world,a grey world, with just me and Alonso and the chicken-killer.
Travelling on an empty bus to nowhere...